Stuck with a Sick Nub
by FallsTooFast
Summary: Two years ago, if anyone ever told me I'd be taking care of a sick Freddie Benson, watching his nubby show, and restraining myself from kissing him, they would be spending the next few years inside a hospital. But now, I'm not so sure. Seddie. Oneshot. T.


**Alright, so, um, this is my first story, so I would really appreciate it if you guys tell me what I should work on, what my weaknesses are, what I should focus on, etc. :) Enjoy!**

**-Gabrielle**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Stuck with a Sick Nub<strong>_

As you all know, I, Sam –call me Samantha and I'll slice your tongue off– Puckett am kinda known for hurting people. Emotional or physical, it varies on what time I woke up that day. But I never really took care of anybody, excluding the time I got Fredweird to rub ointment on my mother with me when she got some rare pimple disease, but other than that I'm mostly the person that _causes _pain.

And everyone was pretty content with that. They were used to the wedgies and fork stabs, especially Freddie, who – thankfully – doesn't whine as much as he did two years ago. "Sam, stop pinching me!" "Sam, put down that candle!" "Sam, don't throw that dog at my mom!" Dramatic, right?

Well, apparently, even though he was immune to physical pain, he wasn't immune to sicknesses. You know, germs and stuff. Because two days ago, while I was trying out my new edible hatchet, Fredhead decided to call, complaining, "Hey, baby, I have a fever. Can you come over here and take care of me? My mom is away."

I sighed and looked at the hatchet in my hand longingly. Freddie or a bacon-flavored instrument of death?

It's cruel to make me choose.

"Sam? Sam? You still there?" I heard Freddie's voice blare through my phone. I forgot he was still there.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, babe. My head's kinda in the clouds today…," I explained, walking over to the vanity Melanie left behind when she went to her chi-chi, fancy pants boarding school. I opened the bottom-left drawer and placed my hatchet beside Freddie's old expired coupon from Groovy Smoothie that promised that if you "buy 12 smoothies, the 13th one will be 10% off."

"Well, are you coming?"

"Yeah. Give me 10 minutes."

I grabbed my mom's leather jacket, since she insisted on taking mine so she would look more "skinny because George is coming."

George is my mom's new boyfriend. He's some bigshot bongo player, apparently.

Anyways, I hopped in the convertible my mom got for free at a radio show (she won at the Cream Pie Eating for Cougars Contest) and drove over to Freducation's apartment building.

Walking over to his door, I heard various, uh…noises. A couple of coughs, a quiet gag, and something that sounded like a mix of a groan, and someone castrating a very big cat.

"Freddie? Are you alright?" I called from outside his door. Don't get me wrong, sometimes I hate his guts, but hey, he's my boyfriend. It's kinda natural for me to be concerned about him.

I noticed that Carly's apartment door was open, so I peeked in and saw Spencer playing Wii Sports, knocking over various lamps in the process.

As Spencer threw the remote at the TV out of frustration, I heard Freddie hoarsely call out, "Yeah. Can you please just come in? My throat really hurts."

Sighing, I opened the door, expecting a pale, red-nosed figure wrapped in a Galaxy Wars blanket. But what I saw was Freddie lying on the kitchen counter, looking like he always does, and in nothing but a pair of boxers and a white t-shirt. He was a little paler than usual, and his nose was a rosy red, but he didn't look so bad. Maybe a little sick, but he certainly looked a lot better than my mom when she had a fever.

"Freddie?"

His head snapped up, a weak smile on his face. "Hey, Sam. Thanks for coming. I know you were probably really busy." His eyes were droopy, and his voice sounded tired.

I walked up to him, genuinely concerned, then touched his forehead to see how sick he was. "Freddie?" I asked in a soft voice. "Why are you laying on the counter?"

"Because it's nice and cold."

"Yeah, but baby, you'll get even sicker." I started running my hand through his hair, in full-on Mommy mode. Freddie was acting like a little kid, and it was adorable, to tell you the truth. I kinda like kids a little bit – small ones, like 2 or 3 year olds; older children are annoying– so taking care of Freddifer wouldn't really be so bad.

"Too…tired… Can't…get…up…," he muttered lamely, a frown on his face.

I sighed, stretching my arms, before carrying Freddie – who, because of the muscles he had grown these last couple of months, is a lot heavier now – to the moss-colored sofa in his living room. I laid him down gently, then walked into the kitchen again to make him 3-minute chicken noodle soup. His mom placed a small packet of "Easy-to-make noodles" beside the sink with a note taped to the back of it.

_Samantha, _it read, _I apologize for not being there when my Freddie is sick. I have to go to work. So, if Freddie gets hungry, please make him some soup. I know you don't know how to cook, so just boil some water (I'll call the police if the apartment burns down) and pour it in a (CLEAN!) bowl with the noodles and spices. Please don't harass Freddie. –Mrs. Benson_

So, Crazy actually trusts me with her precious kid? Must be a full moon.

I did what she told me, and took the bowl of soup to Freddie. He was curled up in a ball, shivering.

"Hey, Freddie." I smiled, sitting down beside him. His eyes were focused on the screen, which was a little irritating, until I saw that it was a Galaxy Wars movie. Figures.

"Hey, Sam." He turned to look at me, then kissed my cheek. I put the bowl on the table, before wrapping my arms around him as he watched his nubby show.

"You feeling better?" I asked quietly, watching as some chick in a white dress picked up a sword. "Do you feel cold?"

He chuckled. "Wow, Samantha-"

"Call me that and I'll poison your soup, dipwad."

"-Puckett is actually taking care ob me? I don't believe my eyes!"

"I can leave if I want to, you know."

He laughed. "Alright, alright, I'll stop." He then turned to the TV again, still smiling.

I sighed, shaking my head. My arms were wrapped around my then-mortal enemy, watching a sci-fi movie, wanting to kiss a nub. 11-year-old Sam Puckett would be disappointed at me.

"Hey, nub, why'd you call _me_, and not Carly?" I asked, my nose scrunching up as I heard Galaxy Wars' announcer call, _"Not to worry, Galaxy Warsians, there will always a happy ending!"_

Warsians?

"Well, you _are _by girlfriend, Sam…" Freddie smiled up at me, a hint of amusement in his brown, sleepy eyes. "I knew you'd take care of me."

I scoffed, chuckling. "Pfft, yeah, right, Fredwich. I only came here 'cause my mom'sboyfriend is coming. I didn't have much of a choice."

"Luke? The dentist?"

"No, George."

I saw Freddie roll his eyes, then smirk. "Well, why didn't you go over to Carly's instead? Or Wendy's?"

Damn. Caught.

I started to stutter out, "W-well, I, uh…"

"Why didn't you go over to Troubled Waters so you could steal their quesadillas like you said yesterday?"

"I didn't-"

"Or why didn't you go to that Cuttlefish concert with Harper downtown?"

"I wasn't-"

"Or the meat parade at-"

"Alright. I get it, you caught me!" I screamed, aggravated. "I want to take care of you! There, I said it! Are you happy now?"

He smiled, then kissed me briefly. "Yup." He turned back to the screen, in a nubbish way, smug and grinning and all that.

I frowned. His stupid effect on me is getting annoying. "If you weren't sick, your face would be seventeen shades of purple right now," I mumbled threateningly. Yes, there are seventeen shades of purple. I discovered twelve new colors when Jimmy Park, an old crush, asked me to give him Melanie's number when I was fourteen. It was a good thing his dad was a plastic surgeon.

"Please. You _love _me too much."

"Momma doesn't love dorks, Freddifer," I lied, shaking my head.

"Liar."


End file.
